When the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers are invoked at the Day of Judgement, when the seventh seal is opened, then they shall come, like seven kings and queens, each one with seven eyes and seven horns, wearing a starry diadem, and carrying a flaming torch. It is the Seven who own the seven families of the Delkurí: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, and Ulkru. They rule the seven torments of mortal existence: burning, blinding, releasing, winning, living, filling, and creating. It is these who steer the seven stages of mourning: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, acceptance. And their servants shall be there, blowing seven trumpets, before they bring seven candelabras and seven golden dishes. And then every secret of the human heart shall be revealed by Swtakh Lord of the Wilderness and Master of the Unknown. And with seven peals of thunder the seven last plagues shall be released. And so shall Mawdryn Undead awake after his long sleep, to sing his Seven Songs once again. And by that time the Seven shall have become One.

 

And here’s Hebé, unruly spirit of love and punishment, dawdling towards the lad in the middle of a column of fire. As she arrives, the golden rings glittering on all her fingers, she whispers all kind of things to him, about protecting some special pregnant lass, her son an exquisite gem who can transform the Broken World and save everyone, if only the ceremony is completed properly by the chosen officiant. And he’s watching the Hopeless Prince caressing the Unattainable Princess on an iridescent green hillock, which is also a dirty carpet. And like a scene in a film, he now hears the voice of that special girl, the sweet-heart he loves with his whole body, and mind, and soul, although she doesn’t realise yet. And she explains as plain as can be that she’s carrying a little baby, her voice so strong and insistent. And the lad begins to worry as usual about growing up, taking responsibility, getting a career, and raising a family, but she smiles at him and encourages him, and he begins to feel that everything will be all right, as she repeats the one word – ‘ithlon’ – ‘brother' – over and over. 

 

“…After lots of conquering and oppressing, the Lucky Couple, the Princess and the Lout, had a baby. And although no-one had organised nor imagined such a thing, it was he who was the Son Foretold, who could unite the powers of the Idolaters with that of the Sorcerers to create a new World, possibly. The child was named twice, so special was he, as Keth·kela and Hethehela (in the languages of the two tribes), as the colour of his skin was glaucous. Perhaps this had happened due to the fragile situation in the Fortress, as I shall explain next, as the entire court had turned its back on the Sorcerers, and was riven by contention. The argumentative factions were always trying to harm each other and seize power, by sending spies to collect scraps of information, whilst spreading lies, and poisoning the food and the water. In the House of Rebirth, the eternal flame had gone out. The Vexatious Voice had become silent. And the fabled cauldron of green brass was nowhere to be seen any longer…” [*]

 

And then the lad understands that Steffan is the Brother, and he can hear him shouting at him: “Come on, mate! Jump, jump!” And there’s a female voice quietly reciting the words of the Musasa Rite: “Le-iro mi fares; A’tse to p’oe; Ita za taz; Ha-tal agmi talag!” And as she steals the charms of the Seven from their own minds, there’s the decrepit form of the sarcastic Schoolmaster exploding before his eyes in a multitude of chunks of raw flesh, each one of them living independently of the rest, and trying to surround, and choke, and suffocate. And the lad remembers himself fixing the blue cottage’s toilet as an imaginary Sister tries to trap him with a spell. But now a real Sister from his lost past frees him, as a radioactive Arbor-rota flies straight at him, its dozens of red eyes flashing, its tens of toothy tails grabbing and cutting, and its seven mouths spewing out every profanity under the Sun.

 

“… And in this matter, the chieftains of the seven Warrior families were behaving so similarly to the Seraphic Sorcerers, blaming, and quarrelling, and brawling. Trying to get them to agree was an impossible task. But with regards to enforcing iron discipline and maintaining order, the Lout was not much use at all. The life of everyone living in the Fortress was affected by the threatening whispers, the drugs in the mead, the ceaseless provocation, and the lack of sleep. Now we would say that they had to put up with constant psychological torture, but they said that an Evil Enchantress was casting spells on them, the old chauvinist pigs (although there’s nothing wrong with pigs, either!). The Princess warned him constantly that there was some evil afoot with the nobles, but he had much more important things on his mind. Little use is wife’s advice to her man, but he’ll rue the day he ignores her, as they say…” 

 

But perhaps the Seraphic Sorcerers had forgotten their own instructions. Or maybe, fundamentally, it’s a matter of interpretation, as it always is when dealing with enchantment, laws, prophecies, contracts, political manifestos, exam questions, referendum results, and scriptures. Certainly, they don’t want the all the terrible power to turn against them. They’ve chosen by hand (well, by tentacle, or pincer, to be perfectly honest) two men, and trained them by means of a long series of trials and tribulations to be sacrifice and priest, although even they don’t know which will be which until the fateful moment arrives. So it can scarcely be said that the two Eyrthlets are common folk (although, of course, such shilly-shallying caused an enormous problem the last time, didn’t it, but there you are). But anyway, they have arranged for the prospective officiants to learn the proper words in detail, although one of them’s on the point of sublimating now, while the other’s forgotten everything for the time being.

 

“…What was the big problem, then, that can cause people to change colour? Well, to speak plainly, it is the food that was to blame, probably, or the lack of it. We must remember that the inhabitants of the Fortress were not Farmers but Warriors. They were more familiar with oil and leather, with rock and wood, that with fruit and veg, or with fish and meat. So, no-one in the Citadel had a balanced diet by a long way, to say the least. Furthermore, the Lout was mad about growing exceptional fungus from the Hinterland that developed magically beneficial properties from being kept in honey for a year and a day. And he would persuade, or encourage, or force his son to gobble down vast quantities of it, and although it caused terrifying visions as well as odd feelings, strange twitches, and iridescent skin, it didn’t taste too awful. But having said that, of course, you can always have too much of a good thing, too, and it’s possible to choke on excess. Despite that, the Happy Family managed to keep alive if not healthy, despite the innumerable troubles...” 

 

And the Seven have worked so hard to purify the sacrificial stone and keep it from being desecrated by bodily fluids. All the terribly sweet words are shooting like magical bombs from every side. The Old Solider, or the fake-Wizard (or the Old Holy Warrior, even), has succeeded in defending himself from becoming ceremonially impure, more or less, although his secret intention is to pervert the Sorcerers’ wishes. And by exercising his shrewd mind he’s purified the lad in the same way too, well, well enough. But no-one’s mentioned the physical condition of the participants. And considering the small-print, in every Old Book, Scroll of Commandments, Tablet of Fates, or Grimoire, you’ll always find words like: unhurt, without blemish, faultless, and unstained. And in this matter, the lad is terribly defiled!

 

“…Despite that, the neglectful parents were too busy doing their own thing, with military objectives in mind (on the part of one), or following agricultural pleasures (on the part of the other), to care appropriately for the little boy who was very precocious. And this meant that he came under the influence of the Deceitful Lords’ children who were as bad as, if not worse than, their own parents. One day, whilst playing with the little devils, Keth·kela Hethehela ran off. One said he was hunting a mouse, whilst the others that he had gone after a ball that had escaped from his grip and rolled down a passageway, although no-one had seen where exactly he’d gone. Whether they were telling the truth or not about his location, the kid had penetrated into the guts of the Fortress. And in the deepest, darkest, and most terrifying cellar, he had fallen into an enormous vat in the form of a cauldron of green brass full to overflowing with pitch-black liquid which was sweet ambrosia full of honey, and drowned. When he had not returned by midnight, the parents went crazy, worrying that they would be judged lacking, and getting angry at the thought that, possibly, they had lost a very valuable asset...” 

 

All over the boy’s skin there are thousands of scars dancing, across his back and his chest, and down his arms. And on his left chest, seared with hot iron, there’s a scarlet shape, a dread symbol from the Nw Yrth. And they are red, rwnic letters, that are primal and terribly powerful, which form and re-form new languages. And Oh, what agonizing pangs he feels, as the sign on his chest changes constantly. And then the symbols incised on his body come alive, prattling and singing. And then the lad realises without thinking but instinctively, how to make the strongest magic, by channelling and playing with the transformative power at the heart of the web of language, which is immense and all-embracing. He starts again to recite then, in a trance, as it were, and the words turn into a mantra, and the mantra into a chant, and the chant into a song. And he hears that the strange words have immense strength, and so the novel incantation begins to flow from his lips – 'Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu.’ 

 

“…Through his mentalist powers, which were almost supernatural, the Lout discerned that to find the boy, the searcher would have to possess exceptional linguistic skill, since revelation and exposition go hand-in-hand as it were. The Lout asked the Wizards how to solve the problem, and they answered that the successful seer would need to solve the following riddle – ‘Somewhere, a bullock has been born, which has changed its colour twice during its lifetime, from white, to red, to black. What is the best way of describing the colours of this creature?’…”

 

And so then, he’s not trying to be an overbearing symbolic sorcerer, who’s trying to control the magic spurting from the substance of the Two Worlds, but rather he’s a craftsman, who goes with the creative flow, allowing the energy to pour through him, and being moulded by it in his turn before it escapes so quickly. He’s not speaking in the old way any longer, either, as he should, although the chamber, the cellar, the place of sacrifice, is beginning to melt despite that. And he joins with the voice of his true love as the essence of every living being in the Two Worlds flows through them as they float in the middle of a non-stop, unrelenting, careless maelstrom of creativity — ‘Size, nilara, narala, sifi.’ 

 

“…Now, there was in the kingdom at that time a Shaman called Ohl·weled. His name means that he could foresee many things, and he would have been a famous mentalist and numerologist today. He desired with his whole heart to return to his homeland, far across the Accursed Main, but had been refused by the Tyrant because of his myriad talents. Anyway, it was him who solved the riddle, declaring – The colours of the bullock are like those of the Man-bull, who saved the folk and damned them too, as he was white when he was born, he was red as he ranted and raved in the Paths of Wickedness, and he was black the day he was killed by the Bloody Princess.' The Lout was flabbergasted by such words, and sent the Shaman to fetch his son, wherever he might be…” 

 

And by now the cosmic creature’s got so complex that its trillions of self-conscious cells filled with primal soup are starting to create a sound that extends through the All-World, as it continues to evolve constantly. And the superorganism’s unrestrained howling adds so powerfully to the song that’s opposing the Sorcerers’ expectations. — ‘Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa.’ This sound contains a strange mixture of loneliness and hope, of solidarity and despair, although it’s not possible to show this in a picture, nor describe it in language. And although the Seven are on the verge of breaking through to take over the Eyrth and cause havoc with their rubbery tentacles, its truth, and its ferocity, and its inescapable earnestness, and its jaunty joy make them very afraid — ‘Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe.’

 

“…The Shaman wandered through the winding corridors, and the vast halls, and the narrow paths, for days without a pause, until his feet were bleeding. Down and down he went, further and further, zig-zagging purposelessly without a single idea about direction nor destination. But unbeknownst to him, he was aiming straight for the black heart of the Sinister Stronghold. At last he discovered the body of the boy after seeing an owl chasing a swarm of bees away from the Fortress’s wine cellar deep in the roots of the place. The corpse had been perfectly preserved by the ambrosia so that it would never age. And there was the boy upside-down in the enormous cauldron of green brass, his face shining with holy glory. The Lout was delighted to get his son’s body back, but this was still not enough for him…” 

 

And the lad’s looking straight in the whites of his hateful Uncle’s eyes, as he claws and sneers salaciously. But from the darkness, a wild beast leaps out at him, one that lives in a pine-forest on the Eyrth, in some far-away land, and it’s like a she-wolf guarding her cubs, whilst howling under the harsh Moon’s light — ‘Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha.’ And the Uncle turns into an enormous lump of throbbing ectoplasm which becomes a cephalopod with very many arms whirling all over the place to lacerate its exhausted prey, who’s panting short and fast by now, with a thousand ice-cold blades. 

 

“…Then the Lout commanded the Shaman to restore his son to life. And indeed, the old man was familiar with the tale about Tefnuth singing a magical song stolen from the Sun that she could die, descend to the Underworld, collect and heal Lushfé, and bring him back to his throne of blue steel in the Chief Ziggurat. However, he recognised his limitations as well, and although he’d found the body of the poor child un the cellar so like the Underworld, after searching for an age, he had to admit that he couldn’t resuscitate him. Well, the Lout went raving mad when he heard this, insisting that the wise man, who didn’t appear too clever at that point in time, should be locked up in a dungeon with the corpse. And he would have nothing at all to eat, and nothing in his hand but a sword, either…”

 

But suddenly an enormous earthquake splits the wasteland around the Ziggurats, announcing that the Eleven Beasts are joining the battle, called by an old charm they cannot refuse — ‘Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha.’ They are not usual creatures, but ones of enormous size and full of supernatural strength. From one of the fissures a poisonous snake appears, as a majestic serpent slips from another deep hole on the far side of the field. And to assist the efforts of its friends, a furious viper comes into view from under the hateful statue. They are not alone. either, for there’s a deadly scorpion scrabbling between the stone trees, and an electric eel swimming wildly through the air full of sparks. Further, a muscular bull rushes across the battlefield roaring, to defend the lad, and beside it there is a vast dragon. Form the right, there comes a hairy bogey, while a mad lion runs in from the left. 

 

“...The Shaman was completely confused considering his situation and his circumstances. When he was almost dying of hunger, he succeeded in killing a serpent that had slid under the thick door of oak towards the child, to prevent it from harming his body. (And he did this either with the sword or with a handy stone, either by accident or on purpose. The stories aren’t clear here. Who can say, now?) That was a pity, in the sense of being a mistake, perhaps, as the old snake is mistress of very many secrets, including how to heal the dead, a miracle taught to her by Tefnuth. As the Shaman waited to consider how to eat the animal without cooking it, another serpent appeared. When it saw its sweetheart lying dead on the cold slates, it disappeared at once. But contrary to the old man’s expectation, it came back in no time, bearing in its mouth the leaves of some herb, or maybe they were mushrooms. And to his great surprise, when it put the plant on the body of the dead serpent, she came back to life immediately…”

 

And the lad’s voice, and the voices of Blodeuwedd and the Good Doctor too are joining with the choir of the Two World’s strongest voices, singing an intoxicatingly complex song about love, and hate, and having, and losing. and about uniting every opposing thing — ‘Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.’ And this is a hymn full of blood and beauty, as terrible as Tefnuth’s Song who brought Lushfé back to life by sacrificing herself and going down to the Underworld. It speaks about the one who yearns, that very instant, for release, and about the other who is begging for life to continue, foretelling that there shall be, at last, two sacrifices, at the time when the physical strength of the young one and the mental power of the older one, shall be transferred to the son who is not yet born, speaking his destiny and sealing his fate, and with it, the future of the Eyrth and the Nw Yrth both. And there’s the Eleven Beasts attacking the creature from the id in the form of the Uncle, while the Otherworldly Choir hums loud enough to melt even the blue stones, and the Urban Commando dressed in the remnants of military uniform wields his serrated hunting knife, as complete chaos rages around him. 

 

“…Without much attention to health and safety, not to mention clinical trials (they used to do things very differently in the old days, it was rather like being in some undeveloped country like Sanjorj on the Southern Continent today), the Shaman put some of the magical stuff on the corpse of the child who had died by being steeped in the ambrosia containing lots of honey. And he awoke straight away, thanks to the power of the nitrogenous chemicals called alkaloids, which originate from plants that grow in cattle dung. But it’s necessary to remember that honey, also, was essential to the apparent biochemical sorcery. And in this matter, the child fulfilled a prophecy which was associated with Lushfé in the first place — The sacrifice did perish, But came back to life once more; So all the pines are singing, To know that the withered bough, Shall flourish again in joy…” 

 

And last, at that very moment, the great weather beast arrives, bringing a fierce storm from the Carborundum Peaks of Gasrakh in the Northern Continent of the Nw Yrth, which threatens to destroy completely the tortured form of the predatory Uncle, who’s the violent Father at the same time. And then, an incalculable period of most plaintive bleating from the cowardly form of the man, or the men, before the lad shakes his head once, whilst exhaling slowly. And the spectral shape of the Father-Uncle gets ripped to shreds by unseen talons whilst it cries, and begs – and explodes in hundreds of fat droplets of boiling sludge – slamming the lad onto the stone as the knife is thrown from his grip.

 

“…The Lout was beside himself with joy from getting his son back. Despite that, he would not allow the Shaman to leave before he had taught the secrets of magic to the boy. The old man agreed as he did not have any choice at all, and taught the son sorcery. And then, he was allowed to leave. But, with the ship on the point of sailing away, the Shaman asked the boy to spit into his mouth. The son did so (that’s disgusting, isn’t it!), forgetting on the spot all the secrets he’d learned from the wise man. The Shaman returned homewards without delay. But because the boy had died in the cauldron, he was therefore the only soul to escape without crossing the Bridge to the Other World. And the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers were incensed at losing him, and determined to get the special lad back…” 

 

And here’s the Universe about to end, as time and space rush faster and faster in a sickening spiral towards a singularity where they’ll fail and end forever. The Exhausted Sun’s red light calls the lad, promising release, peace, love, harmony, and a permanent end to suffering. Somewhere her can see Ari-adní catching up with the Man-bull in the Paths of Wickedness to stab him. And there’s Lotké in the Tortured Hive being forced to look back, and turning into a pillar of chalk, his white eyes staring like silly marbles at the burning underwater city. The man-boy’s asleep on his feet, and Oh, how much he wants to give up fighting, although he’s not sure whether he wants to live or die, and he doesn’t care, either. 

 

“...Now, little by little, new Lords had appeared from the ranks of the mercenaries after the Red Feast, to lead the various crews. And under secret influence by the Seven Sorcerers, the agents of the competing factions would never give up trying to kill the Happy Family, following the familiar pattern. The parents could defend themselves, But the Lout decided to collect the strongest magic from everywhere to give to the boy, Keth·kela Hethehela, in exchange for the power taken away by the Shaman. Then, to keep him from harm and death, he sent the Son Foretold to the Eyrth through the Cleft between the Worlds created, perhaps, by the daring but unfortunate aviators…”

 

At last, the obscene ceremony started by the Father and continued by the fake-Wizard is in the verge of coming to an end. The Gate between the Worlds opens. And it’s so difficult. As hard as it could be. Laboriously slowly it happens. And the lad’s drowning in an enormous, bloody caldron of sound, and image, and feeling, in which exalted hymns are mixing with the worst foul language. And he discerns that the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Yrthians’ Extremely Exalted Empire have become one, and that they are rejoicing uncontrollably. The dull scrying-glass explodes for the last time, to scatter fragments to the four corners of the Two Worlds, as the blue cottage burns like living fire, getting completely destroyed, from the infernal cellar, to the cursed toilet. All around him, the pines scream as they welcome the pure, strong, thoughtless bonfire, singing easily. And the two human beings shall get what they deserve as prize or punishment – the one shall live, whilst the other shall die. 

 

“…The journey of the Son Foretold was an act that would cause unexpected and far-reaching consequences, weaving together the lives of the inhabitants on the Two Worlds from then on, for the Severn Sorcerers were incandescent with rage when they realised from afar what had happened. And when the leaders of the great families saw the kid disappearing in a column of flaming cloud that had appeared above the Rosy Fortress, they immediately arose in rage, uniting to set upon the Lout ferociously and tear him apart. And in this matter, they were behaving exactly like Swtakh relishing dismembering Lushfé’s body. And so, the Lout died. However, after that, they began their old tricks again, plotting all kinds of mayhem, but they could not agree on anything anymore, and they immediately fled to far lands. And due to their treachery, the Princess took the place of her dear departed husband as Despot after almost half a day of intense mourning…” 

 

Then, the lad who’s been sent to do a man’s work is shouting as if the Two Worlds are at an end, falling higgledy-piggledy towards the boiling beast, which is much stronger and angrier than before, utterly spent. Painfully, the enormous heap of meaty stuff swells up, sweating, and huffing, and vomiting, as a human form, muscular and flaming, incarnates. And the empty, black eyes of the terrible figure burn the lad like two ultraviolet torches full of all his own fears and failings, while the enormous arms turn into tentacles reaching out to drag him to the bottom of the Tearful River.

 

“…Ari·adní wanted revenge on those who had brought about Hufanoru’s demise, and caused her to lose Keth·kela Hethehela, and she spent considerable time on training to be a warrior-woman. She discovered to where exactly the criminals had escaped, far away from her Kingdom, (they were lurking in the Shaman’s homeland, to be perfectly correct), and then she waited her chance. Several years later, she led a campaign against the land of the Lords who had fallen from grace, pretending that she was claiming tribute in the name of her late husband. When they saw the strength of her army, and the glory of her war-chariots, the common people were humbled…” 

 

The lad fumbles with all his might to release himself, but fails, the air burning his lungs as he tries in vain to catch his breath. On the Eyrth, the pines everywhere around the cottage are dropping hundreds and hundreds of green cones, the same colour as the tower of Ari·adní who killed her bull of a brother with a ball of thread (and a dagger). And while battling to stop him with their hooves, their teeth, and their talons, the legions of spiny, winged beings shoot from their sides thousands of sharp metallic feathers, as white as the layer of fungus growing wild on the endless walls of the Paths of Wickedness under the Rosy Fortress. And on the dirty, polluted bank of the River of Tears, a stupid man sends loads of pebbles as black as the Man·toru’s skin when he died, into the stinking water, whilst trying to save a wild pig caught in a rusty shopping-trolley. And on the threshold of some enchanted cellar, the bracelet on the wrist of one of the two lads breaks, showering beads as blue as the goat-like eyes of his mate all over the floor. 

 

“…The proud and stupid Lords continued to scorn the Princess however, saying that she was a worm compared with the Tyrant May·nover, or even the Dictator Hufanoru, and that she could never rule because she was a woman. So, without batting an eyelid, she killed every one of them there in an enormous slaughter, destroyed the city completely, burned the place, and sowed the ground with salt. Even the ancient Shaman called Ohl·weled who had saved her son, died in the First Great Tribulation. As a result, although she was not anyone’s Stepmother, since she did not marry ever again, she got the nickname the Bloody Princess. And then, whilst taking a small break from the terrible task, Ari·adní asked the empty sky whether she was indeed as great at the dead Tyrant…”

 

The Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who dwell in the hidden gaps beyond normal comprehension are waiting impatiently, distorting all the angles, and turning colours into sound. The lad’s watching the scene from the Old Book where Ishakí the Father hesitates before plunging the knife into the heart of Adauvam the Son to satisfy the Strange Divinities and unleash incredible powers. But it’s the Son who’s playing the role of the Father now, and above their heads the black raven is ferociously attacking the white dove. The Seven howl expectantly as if their own wails would open the Painful Path to the Other World, whilst the Vexatious Voice commands: “Kill the sacrifice with a knife of metal, and dismember the body, and place it to burn in the fire as a fire-offering to the Old Masters, that they may come to feast on the tasty flesh of the whole Eyrth forevermore.” 

 

“…Having established herself as Tyrant, the Bloody Princess began to use the agricultural skills she’d learned from her lost lover, as well as magical techniques (or pioneering scientific ones, as we would say in our refined language today) contained in her late Stepmother’s confidential notebooks. In this way, she was able to cultivate vast crops of mushrooms, and very spicy beans, and glaucous fungi, and to produce jet-black ambrosia with herbs and honey in it. And she not only became exceptionally wealthy, but also tightened her grip over a large swathe of the Planet, as these foods had strange powers to affect peoples’ minds, as well as their bodies, and their behaviour. She also organised the seven great families so that the members would be numerologists, mentalists, and priests, astrologers, alchemists, inquisitors, and interpreters, and established rites and ceremonies they would have to keep to avoid the wrath of the Old Masters, and devised chants full of power in the old original language to summon them and compel them, to plead with them and threaten them…”

 

But there is yet some chunk of stubborn darkness in the lost lad, some sharp piece of rock from the Capricious Moon, which will not let him stop fighting, and there’s a rash shadow screaming from somewhere: “Go on, mate, what happens is up to you, you’re telling this story, right, not them!” Is he choosing for himself, or being forced? He doesn’t know, he can’t understand it. He doesn’t care at all, anyway, about reasons or logic, and for sure, he’s not behaving bravely, nor sacrificing himself for any particular principle. But it feels like he’s at the helm for the first time ever, probably. And despite all the filth, and mental anguish, and stench, and confusion, the fake-Wizard’s purifying magic’s backfired to keep the lad safe. But he realizes then, too, like a flash of lightning, that the Magician must fling himself into the Void every time he casts a spell, not knowing for certain whether the expected result will happen or not, but being brave enough to act, to jump nevertheless, and despite all his doubts. And the new words of the Spell of Transformation suddenly coalesce in his mind, and then start to tear themselves unbidden from his terribly parched mouth, flowing out to swarm in the air like white-hot, living embers —

 

Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu; Size, nilara, narala, sifi; Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa; Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe; Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha; Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha; Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo. 

 

“…The Bloody Princess promised that the faithful and submissive vassals would go to the Underworld when they died, on a blue and green Planet, far away from there, where they would live in bliss for ever, if they behaved according to all the strict rules of the Sorcerers’ Extremely Exalted Empire. But, she warned that they would go to Eternal Torment in the Bottomless Pit in the Planet’s fiery heart otherwise. And she declared that every graven image was an abomination, and the image of any creature, as they were full of power. She forbade all the people from depicting the Sorcerers in any fashion, on pain of death, and threatened that all unbelievers would be accursed, and every one who held any belief apart from the universal orthodox one…”

 

And there’s the voices of the lost kids too, belting out Gorgon’s Verse at the top of their nasty lungs to open the Accursed Door. As all the voices shout, sing, pray, scream, and intone, the flaming words obey them in order to bring the Great Work to an end. And by uniting all the drama’s characters, the appropriate force gushes like an unruly stream through the Sanctuary of the Seven, extinguishing the flames with waves of blackness, but sparking new Worlds into being with explosions of light at the same time. And accepting his complete lack of knowledge and control, the lad tumbles, falling suddenly and helplessly inwards where there are numberless Worlds waiting to be discovered, and in some of them he could live in joy, and marry, and have kids, and work for an Institution for Troubled Children – or maybe be a cheeky great monkey who’ll never grow up – or crawl on all fours in torment through putrid bogs full boiling bitumen – who knows? 

 

“…And the Bloody Princess did all this, claiming that she was the First Prophetess of the World-Wide Faith, and that her holy task was to purify, discipline, punish, and save, and that that would be the privilege and the duty of every obedient vassal of the Sorcerers too from then on. And she said with the greatest certainty that her exceptional abilities sprang from the magic that arose in her womb when she was carrying the Son Foretold who united the power of the Sorcerers and the understanding of the Idolaters. For it was he who had died and then come back to life. And that allowed her to recite the Most Powerful Charm of Naming and Binding, to call and command the life-force of every creature on the face of the Planet…” 

 

Indeed, all the tools are ready in the sacred place, so that the one who lets go of his life can discover a new one, escaping without a doubt from an existence full of pain for ever – or maybe embracing an even worse one. But at least it’s him who would be deciding, acting, choosing, completely for himself, whatever the outcome. The voice of the undependable, bewildered Friend is calling him to jump, as the "Nekrokosmikon" occurs. The Seven Seraphic Sorcerers melt and unite with the Indolent Idolaters at last, to stride through the imagination of the Universe without restraint. The conduit of the creative powers shudders wildly, not brave enough to hurl himself into the tempest. And so, the All-World waits, either for transformation, or for death. 

 

“…And then, the Bloody Princess turned her attention towards the Eyrth, that fertile Planet across the Cleft between the Worlds, which was the new home to the Son Foretold who had taken the discipline of the Sorcerers as well as the insight of the Idolaters. And that World was ready to be conquered indeed. She imagined also that that was where the essences of the Lout and the Man-bull had been transported the moment they died, not to mention Thethalu and Ithru…”

 

The ever-changing form in the middle of the sacrifice-stone – the Old Enemy – is about to kill him. There before him, is the crazed, violent Father – the hateful, zealous Uncle – the jolly, bungling Mentalist  – and the contemptuous, frustrated Teacher. And they are joined by the lad’s Mum, her imploring voice telling him that metal is the key, and water is the element for escaping to Another World. And there’s the Lady soothing and encouraging him on the surface, while she seethes with anger underneath, passing into his hand an ancient dagger of rusty iron. And then, immediately, that very minute – he has to do it – he needs to – bring an end to all the destruction. Although he has neither the strength nor the desire, he lifts the knife to finish everything, his Sister-Sweetheart guiding his hand, gently but firmly. There are Seven characters there, and each one corresponds to one of the Seven Sorcerers. He’s still trying to avoid looking at the abominable thing that contains his whole self, desperately turning his face away. But. compelled by an irresistible power, enchanted by Swtakh’s Vexatious Voice, he can’t keep his eyes off it, and is forced to look at the nightmarish entity. 

 

“…With her shrewd mind’s eye, as she stared into the enormous cauldron of green brass which by then always stood beside the Steel Throne of the Despot, the Bloody Princess perceived things happening on the Eyrth. Thus, she could see, as if on some miraculous viewing screen, the Old Soldier, the Youngest Wizard, and the Numerologist Manqué, the Lady Meykbeds, the Trainee Mentalist, the Urban Commando, and the Unborn. There were most attractive pictures of enchanting and suffering, of murdering, sacrificing, and burning. She discerned that Deklo was the species of those living on the Eyrth, and that they were very like her tribe the Delkurí living on the Harsh Planet…” 

 

And although the lad doesn’t want to do it at all, the rusty dagger decisively descends, as if it’s trying to spite the wielder. That very second, time itself is slashed to rags, as logic is confounded. It’s like a spoiled kid’s smashed the cosmic clock, having gone into a sulk. And all the usual symbols give up making sense, the same time that every image melts. Everything becomes one on the part of location and event, as characters and ideas swim free in a sea of possibility. Everyone changes places and personalities, grown-ups becoming young, whilst kids grow into men and women. And, to his enormous terror, amongst all the other forms, the lad sees Swtakh himself, the Eighth would-be Sorcerer, who was exiled from his tribe because he consorted with the Idolaters and tried to overthrow his comrades' reign.

 

“…And the Bloody Princess knew in her heart that Keth·kela Hethehela was growing, and maturing, and waiting, and conniving, as the unthinking Eyrthlings rushed towards self-destruction, although she herself could not foresee at all what would happen from then on. But imagining all the wonders that the mind can create, there she was, laughing for a very long time.” 

 

And he, Lord of the Wilderness, Master of the Agonizing Blue Steel Hive, and Spreader of Disorder, is the weak, impotent Boy, too, the Lout who’s Father to the Son Foretold, oscillating between vain sulking and raging enough to extinguish the Dazzling Sun. And there he is, squatting in his lightless, incomprehensible chamber, beyond time and space, outside the ordered Cosmos. And in the centre of all infinity, amongst the nethermost chaos, the formless blight boils and blasphemes whilst gnawing hungrily on the bones of Creation. At last, the lad faces himself, as an army of foul drums beats maddeningly as if muffled, and a cacophony of accursed flutes whines monotonously. He has tried to redeem himself from his failings and the cruelties of existence, but has failed completely, probably. 

 

In a trice, some horrible truth begins to dawn on the lad. He sees that by deleting himself from the current, unchosen game, or cancelling himself from life’s insoluble equation, as it were, it could be possible to create some kind of alternate reality. And there everything would happen differently. After all, the lad recognizes that he is the spiritual heir of Sorakados Prince, who died in a flaming bonfire, tempted and betrayed by Swtakh at the age of twenty-one. And the lad knows that great indeed was the Young Wizard’s gift. For humankind was Delkurí to start with, who were completely enslaved to the Seven. But after Sorakados’ self-sacrifice, they were able to change, and then they were Deklo, with the Guild of Secrets working behind the scenes to frustrate all the plans of the Terrible Masters. And now they are on the threshold of another transformation, so that they will be Thehelo if they manage to overcome all the incredible obstacles, and continue to survive, who shall spread their wings to soar towards the Sun and fill the Void. Thereupon, yet another voice appears, one that’s young, and unsure, but very earnest, chanting rhythmically from the future, perhaps, making the incandescent air quiver as it recites the Sevenfold Charm. And it becomes stronger and more confident every second, transforming the oldest magic words once again —

 

Tha la safe fahe tha furulu;

Sizeni la ra nara la sifi;

Thuri the thi ropupaha hapi lisapa; 

E thi tha a thi sali la leni the;

Poru punu ele tha ua la thi aha; 

Afi ra seho uro uhufi life sesiha; 

Filisi tha hui hafa tha leri thehe lo.

 

It's the voice of the First Amongst Equals, Head of the Superheroes' Union, and the lad's son. And then, from within the middle of the mass of razor-sharp spider-web that’s tightening all around him, that lost lad knows that he will be able lay the heaviest burden aside now at long last. And then the World, this World, his World, shall end.

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

[*] This tale has now appeared in “The Bloody Kingdom (A text-heavy graphic novel),” by the Shadow (Mamrick), and the Wýkinger (Grossmann), based on an idea by the Unfortunate Hero (Baxter). — P.M.

Pan elwir ar y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ddydd y Farn, pan agorir y seithfed sêl, wedyn fe ddônt hwy, fel saith brenin a brenhines, pob un gyda’i saith llygad a’i saith corn, gan wisgo’i ddiadem ac arno saith seren, a chario ffagl fflamllyd. Y Saith biau saith teulu’r Delkurí: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. Hwythau sydd yn rheoli saith poenedigaeth bodolaeth farwol: llosgi, dallu, rhyddhau, ennill, byw, llanw, a chreu. Y rheiny sydd yn llywio saith cam galar: gwylltio, mynd ar goll, anwybyddu, dechrau deall, derbyn, brifo, gwella. Ac fe fydd eu gweision yno’n canu saith utgorn, cyn iddynt ddod â saith canhwyllyr a saith dysgl o aur. Ac yna fe ddatgelir pob cyfrinach y galon ddynol gan Swtach Arglwydd yr Anialwch a Meistr yr Anhysbys. A chyda saith taran fe ryddheir y saith pla olaf. A dyma fydd Mawdryn Ddifarw yn dihuno ar ôl ei gwsg hir, i ganu’i Saith Cân unwaith eto. Ac erbyn hynny fe fydd y Saith wedi dod yn Un.

 

A dyma Hebé, ysbryd anhrefnus serch a chosb, yn cerdded ling-di-long tuag at y llanc yng nghanol colofn tân. Wrth iddi gyrraedd, a’r modrwyau euraid yn serennu ar ei bysedd oll, mae hi’n sibrwd pethau o bob math wrtho, am garco rhyw lances arbennig sy’n feichiog, a’i mab yn em odiaeth all drawsffurfio’r Byd Toredig ac achub pawb, ond i’r seremoni gael ei chyflawni’n gymwys gan yr offeiriad dewisol. A dyna fe’n gwylio’r Tywysog Anobeithiol yn cofleidio’i Dywysoges Amhosib ei Chael ar dwmpath gwyrdd symudliw, sydd hefyd yn garped brwnt. Ac fel golygfa mewn ffilm, mae’n clywed bellach lais y llances sbesial ‘na, y gariad mae’n ei charu gyda’i holl gorff, a meddwl, ac enaid, er dyw hi’m yn sylweddoli eto. A dyna hithau’n esbonio heb flewyn ar ei thafod ei bod hi’n cario baban bach, a’i llais mor gry’, a thaer. Ac mae’r llanc yn dechrau poeni fel arfer am gael tyfu lan, cymryd cyfrifoldeb, cael gyrfa, a magu teulu, ond mae hi’n gwenu arno fe a’i annog, ac mae e’n dechrau teimlo bydd popeth yn iawn, wrth iddi ailadrodd yr un gair – ‘ithlon’ – ‘brawd’ – drosodd a throsodd.

 

“…Ar ôl llawer o goncro a gormesu, fe gafodd y Cwpl Lwcus, y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst, faban. Ac er nad oedd neb wedi trefnu na dychmygu’r fath beth, fe oedd y Mab Darogan, a allai uno pwerau’r Delw-addolwyr ag eiddo’r Swynwyr i greu Byd newydd, o bosibl. Fe enwyd y plentyn dwywaith, mor arbennig oedd e, yn Keth·kela a Hethehela (yn ieithoedd y ddau lwyth), gan fod lliw ei groen yn wyrddlwyd, neu lwydlas neu lwydwyrdd. Efallai i hyn ddigwydd oherwydd y sefyllfa fregus yn yr Ysgor, fel y esboniaf nesaf, am fod y llys oll wedi cefnu ar y Swynwyr ac wedi’i hollti gan gynnen. Roedd y carfannau ymrafaelgar wastad yn trio newidio'i gilydd a chipio grym, trwy anfon ysbïwyr i gasglu tameidiau o wybodaeth wrth daenu celwyddau, a gwenwyno'r bwyd a'r dŵr. Yn Nhŷ Aileni, roedd y fflam dragwyddol wedi diffodd. Roedd y Llais Trallodus wedi tawelu. Ac nid oedd y crochan chwedlonol o bres gwyrdd i’w weld yn unman rhagor...” [*]

 

Ac wedyn mae’r llanc yn deall taw Steffan yw’r Brawd, ac yn gallu’i glywed e’n gweiddi arno, “Dere ‘mlaen, mêt! Neidia! Neidia!” A dyna lais benywaidd yn dawel adrodd geiriau Defod Musasa, “Le-iro mi fares; A’tse to p’oe; Ita za taz; Ha-tal agmi talag!” Ac wrth iddi hi ddwyn swynion y Saith o’u meddyliau’u hunain, dyna ffurf fethiannus yr Ysgolfeistr sarcastig yn ffrwydro o flaen ei lygaid yn grug o dalpiau o gnawd cignoeth, a phob un ohonyn nhw’n byw’n annibynnol ar y gweddill ac yn ceisio amgáu, a thagu, a mygu. Ac mae’r llanc yn gofio’i hunan yn trwsio tŷ bach y bwthyn glas wrth i Chwaer ddychmygol drio’i ddal e gyda swyn. Ond bellach dyma Chwaer go iawn o’i orffennol colledig yn ryddhau fe, wrth i Arbor-rota ymbelydrol hedfan yn syth tuag ato fe, a’i ddwsinau o lygaid cochion yn fflachio, a’i ddegau o gynffonau danheddog yn gafael a thorri, a’i saith ceg yn chwydu pob rheg dan yr Haul.

 

“…Ac yn hyn o beth, roedd penaethiaid saith teulu’r Rhyfelwyr yn ymddwyn mor debyg i’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, gan weld bai, a chweryla, a ffrwgwd. Ceisio cytundeb rhyngddyn nhw oedd fel bwyta uwd â rhaw. Ond gyda golwg ar gadw disgyblaeth haearnaidd a chynnal trefn, doedd y Llabwst fawr o beth o gwbl. Fe ddylanwadid ar fywyd pawb yn byw yn yr Uchelgaer gan y sibrydion bygythiol, y cyffuriau yn y medd, y pryfocio di-baid, a'r diffyg cwsg. Erbyn heddiw dywedem ni ‘u bod nhw’n gorfod dygymod â chamdriniaeth seicolegol barhaus, ond dyweden nhw fod yna Reibes Ddrwg yn bwrw hud arnyn nhw, yr hen foch siofinistig (er nad yw dim byd o’i le ar foch, ‘chwaith!). Ei rybuddio fe’n gyson a wnâi’r Dywysoges, fod yna ryw ddrygioni ar droed gan yr uchelwyr, ond roedd pethau pwysicach o lawer yn pwyso ar ei feddwl. Bychan y tâl cyngor gwraig, ond gwae y gŵr nas cymero, fel y meddan nhw…”

 

Ond efallai bod y Swynwyr Seraffaidd wedi anghofio’u cyfarwyddiadau’u hunain. Neu efallai taw mater o ddehongli ydy yn y bôn, fel y bydd bob tro, wrth drin hudoliaeth, cyfreithiau, proffwydoliaethau, cytundebau, maniffestos gwleidyddol, cwestiynau arholiad, canlyniadau refferenda, ac ysgythrau. Yn wir, dyn nhw ddim eisiau i’r holl bŵer arswydus droi yn eu herbyn nhw. Maen nhw wedi dewis â llaw (wel, â thentacl, neu binsiwrn, a bod yn berffaith onest) ddau ddyn, a’u hyfforddi nhw trwy gyfrwng cyfres hir o dreialon a phrofedigaethau i fod yn aberth ac offeiriad, er nad nhwthau hyd yn oed a ŵyr p’un fydd p’un nes i’r foment dyngedfennol gyrraedd. Felly prin y gellid dweud taw gwerin bobl yw’r ddau Ddaearolyn (er taw wrth gwrs, y fath anwadalwch achosodd broblem enfawr y tro ola', hefyd, on’d do fe, ond dyna chi). Ond beth bynnag, maen nhw wedi trefnu i’r darpar offeiriaid ddysgu’r geiriau priodol yn fanwl, er bod un ohonyn nhw ar fin sychdarthu bellach, tra mae’r llall wedi anghofio popeth am y tro.

 

“…Beth oedd y broblem fawr, felly, a all beri i bobl newid lliw? Wel, a sôn yn blwmp ac yn blaen, y bwyd oedd ar fai, siŵr o fod, neu’r prinder ohono. Rhaid cofio nad Amaethwyr oedd trigolion yr Amddiffynfa, ond Rhyfelwyr. Roedden nhw’n fwy cyfarwydd ag olew a lledr, â charreg a phren, nag â ffrwythau a llysiau, ynteu â physgod a chig. Felly nad oedd neb yn yr Ysgor yn cael deiet cytbwys o bell ffordd, a dweud y lleiaf. Ymhellach, roedd y Llabwst yn gwirioni ar dyfu ffwng eithriadol o’r Gefnwlad a ddatblygai nodweddion hudol o lesol o’i gadw mewn mêl am flwyddyn a diwrnod. Ac fe fyddai’n perswadio, neu’n annog, neu’n gorfodi ei fab i lyncu meintiau enfawr ohono, ac er ei fod yn achosi gweledigaethau brawychus yn ogystal â theimladau od, ystumiau rhyfedd, a chroen symudliw, doedd e ddim yn blasu’n rhy wael. Ond wedi dweud hynny, wrth gwrs, gormod o ddim nid yw da, hefyd, a gormod o bwdin dagith gi. Serch hynny, roedd y Teulu Hapus yn llwyddo i gadw'n fyw os nad yn iach, er gwaethaf yr helbulon rif y gwlith…”

 

Ac mae’r Saith wedi gweithio mor galed i buro’r aberthfaen a’i gadw rhag cael ei halogi gan hylifau corfforol. Dyma’r holl eiriau melys ofnadw’n saethu fel bomiau hudol o bob ochr. Mae’r Hen Filwr, neu’r ffug-Ddewin (neu’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, hyd yn oed), wedi llwyddo i’w amddiffyn ei hunan rhag mynd yn seremonïol aflan, mwy neu lai, er taw’i fwriad cêl yw gwyrdroi dymuniadau’r Swynwyr. A thrwy ymarfer ei feddwl craff mae wedi puro’r llanc yn yr un modd ‘fyd, wel, yn ddigon da. Ond dyw neb wedi crybwyll cyflwr corfforol y cyfranogwyr. Ac o ran y print mân, mewn pob Hen Lyfr, Sgrôl Gorchmynion, Tabled Tynghedau, neu Lawlyfr Hud a Lledrith, fe fyddwch chi wastad yn dod o hyd i eiriau fel: dianaf, heb nam arno, di-fai; a pherffeithgwbl. Ac yn hyn o beth, mae’r llanc wedi’i halogi’n wael!

 

“…Er hynny, roedd y rhieni esgeulus yn rhy brysur yn mynd trwy'u pethau, wrth anelu at nodau milwrol (o ran y naill), neu ganlyn pleserau amaethyddol (o ran y llall), i ofalu’n briodol am y bachgen bach oedd yn hen iawn o’i oed. A dyna olygai ei fod yn dod dan ddylanwad plant yr Arglwyddi Dichellgar oedd cynddrwg, os nad gwaeth, na’u rhieni nhwthau. Un dydd, wrth chwarae gyda’r diawliaid bychain, fe redodd Keth·kela Hethehela i ffwrdd. Dywedodd y naill ei fod yn hela llygoden, tra honnodd y lleill iddo fynd ar ôl pêl a oedd wedi dianc o’i afael a rholio lawr tramwyfa, er nad oedd neb wedi gweld ble yn union roedd e wedi mynd. A oedden nhw’n dweud y gwir neu beidio am ei leoliad, roedd y crwt wedi treiddio i berfeddion yr Uchelgaer. Ac yn y seler ddyfnaf, dywyllaf, a mwyaf brawychus, roedd e wedi cwympo i mewn i gerwyn enfawr ar ffurf crochan o bres gwyrdd yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o hylif purddu oedd ambrosia pêr llawn mêl, a boddi. Pan nad oedd e wedi dod yn ôl erbyn hanner nos, fe gollodd y rhieni arnyn nhw eu hunain, dan boeni y caent eu barnu’n ddiffygiol, a mynd yn grac o feddwl o bosibl eu bod wedi colli ased gwerthfawr iawn…”

 

Ar draws croen y bachgen mae miloedd o greithiau’n dawnsio, dros ei gefn a’i frest, ac i lawr ei freichiau. Ac ar ei frest chwith, wedi’i serio â haearn poeth, mae siâp ‘sgarlad, symbol echrydus o’r Nw Yrth. Ac maen nhw’n llythrennau rwnig, cochion, sydd yn gyntefig a nerthol ofnadw’, sy’n ffurfio ac ail-ffurfio ieithoedd newydd. Ond O, am wayw dirboenus mae’n ddeimlo, wrth i’r arwydd ar ei frest newid yn gyson. A dyna’r symbolau wedi’u hysgythru ar ei gorff yn dod yn fyw, gan gogor a chanu. Ac wedyn mae’r llanc yn sylweddoli heb feddwl ond yn reddfol sut i fwrw’r hud grymusaf, drwy sianelu a chwarae gyda’r nerth trawsffurfiadol yng nghalon gwe iaith, sy’n aruthrol a hollgynhwysol. Mae’n ailddechrau adrodd wedyn, mewn breuddwyd fel petai, ac mae’r geiriau’n troi’n fantra, a’r mantra’n llafargan, a’r llafargan yn gân. Ac mae’n clywed bod gan y geiriau estron nerth anferthol, a dyna’r swyngan newydd yn dechrau llifo o’i wefusau — 'Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu.’

 

“…Trwy’i bwerau meddyliaethol, oedd bron yn oruwchnaturiol, canfu’r Llabwst taw er mwyn cael hyd i'r bachgen, byddai'n rhaid i'r chwiliwr feddu ar ddawn ieithyddol eithriadol, gan fod datguddiad ac esboniad yn mynd law yn law fel petai. Gofynnodd y Llabwst i'r Dewiniaid sut i ddatrys y broblem, ac atebon nhw y byddai angen ar y gweledydd llwyddiannus ddehongli'r pos canlynol – ‘Yn rhywle, mae bustach wedi cael ei eni, sydd wedi newid ei liw ddwywaith yn ystod ei oes, o wyn, i goch, i ddu; Beth yw'r ffordd orau i ddisgrifio lliwiau'r creadur hwn?’…”

 

Ac wedyn, felly, dyw e ddim yn trio bod yn swynwr symbolaidd trahaus, sy’n ceisio rheoli’r hud yn ffrydio o sylwedd y Ddau Fyd, ond yn hytrach, crefftwr ydy, sy’n mynd gyda’r llif creadigol, gan adael i’r egni arllwys trwyddo a chael ei fowldio ganddo yn ei dro cyn iddo ddianc mor gyflym. Dyw e ddim yn siarad yn ôl yr hen arfer mwyach, ‘chwaith, fel y dylai fe, er bod y siambr, y seler, y lle aberthol yn dechrau toddi, serch hynny. Ac mae’n ymuno â llais ei wir gariad wrth i hanfod pob bod byw yn y Ddau Fyd lifo trwyddyn nhw wrth iddyn nhw arnofio yng nghanol trobwll di-hidio, diarbed, di-baid creadigaeth — ‘Size, nilara, narala, sifi.’

 

“…Nawr, bu yn y deyrnas y pryd hynny Siaman o'r enw Ohl·weled. Mae'r enw'n golygu y gallai ragweld llawer o bethau, ac fe fuasai wedi bod yn feddyliaethydd a rhifolegwr enwog heddiw. Roedd e'n dymuno â'i holl galon ddychwelyd i'w famwlad, yn bell dros y Dyfnfor Diofryd, ond wedi cael ei wrthod gan yr Unben o achos ei dalentau fyrdd. Beth bynnag, fe a ddatrysodd y pos, gan ddatgan – 'Mae lliwiau'r bustach fel eiddo'r Man·toru, a wnaeth achub y werin a’u damnio hefyd, gan ei fod yn wen pan gaeth e’i greu, roedd e’n goch wrth iddo regi a thaeru yn Llwybrau Drygioni, ac roedd e'n ddu ar y dydd y cafodd ei ladd gan y Dywysoges Waedlyd.' Syfrdanodd y Llabwst o glywed y fath eiriau, ac anfon y Siaman i nôl ei fab, ble bynnag y bo…”

 

Ac erbyn hyn mae’r creadur cosmig wedi dod mor gymhleth bod ei driliynau o gelloedd hunangydwybodol wedi’u llenwi â chawl cychwynnol yn dechrau creu sain sy’n ymestyn drwy’r Holl Fyd, wrth iddo ddal i esblygu’n gyson. A dyma udo aflywodraethus yr oruwchorganeb yn ychwanegu mor bwerus at y gân sy’n gwrthwynebu disgwyliadau’r Swynwyr — ‘Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa.’ Mae’r sŵn hwn yn cynnwys cymysgedd rhyfedd o unigrwydd a gobaith, o solidariaeth ac anobaith, er dyw’m yn bosib dangos hyn mewn llun, na’i ddisgrifio mewn iaith. Ac er bod y Saith ar fedr torri drwyddo i gymryd y Ddaear drosodd ac achosi helbul â’u tentaclau rwberaidd, mae’i wiredd, a’i ffyrnigrwydd, a’i daerineb anochel, a’i llonder talog yn ‘neud iddyn nhw gael ofn ofnadw’ — ‘Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe.’

 

“…Crwydrodd y Siaman trwy'r coridorau troellog, a’r neuaddau dirfawr, a’r llwybrau cul, am ddyddiau heb saib, nes bod ei thraed yn gwaedu. I lawr ac i lawr aeth e, yn bellach bellach, wrth igam-ogamu’n ddiamcan heb yr un syniad am gyfeiriad na chyrchfan. Ond heb yn wybod iddo, roedd e’n anelu’n syth at galon ddu’r Amddiffynfa Anfad. O'r diwedd fe ddarganfu gorff y bachgen ar ôl gweld gwdihŵ'n hela haid o wenwyn ymaith o seler win yr Ysgor yn ddwfn yng ngwreiddiau’r lle. Roedd y gelain wedi'i chyffeithio’n berffaith gan yr ambrosia nes na fyddai byth yn heneiddio. A dyna oedd y bachgen wyneb i waered yn y crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, a'i wyneb yn disgleirio o ogoniant glân. Roedd y Llabwst wrth ei fodd o gael corff ei fab yn ôl, ond doedd hyn ddim yn ddigon iddo o hyd…”

 

A dyna’r llanc yn rhythu’n syth ym myw llygaid ei Wncwl ffiaidd, ac yntau’n crafangu wrth gilwenu’n anllad. Ond o’r tywyllwch, dyna fwystfil gwyllt yn llamu ato fe, un sy’n byw mewn fforest binwydd ar y Ddaear, mewn rhyw wlad hirbell, ac mae fel bleiddast yn gwarchod ei chenau wrth oernadu dan olau’r Lleuad lem — ‘Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha.’ A dyna’r Wncwl yn troi yn lwmp enfawr o ectoplasm curiadol sy’n dod yn geffalopod a chanddo lawer iawn o freichiau’n chwyrlïo dros bob man i gymriwio’i ysglyfaeth flinedig sy’n peuo’n n fyr ac yn gyflym erbyn hyn, â mil o lafnau iasoer.

 

“…Wedyn gorchmynnodd y Llabwst i’r Siaman adfer ei fab i fywyd. Ac yn wir, roedd yr hen ddyn yn gyfarwydd â'r chwedl am Tefnuth yn canu cân hudol wedi'i dwyn gan yr Haul fel y gallai hi farw, disgyn i'r Isfyd, casglu a gwella Lushfé, a dod â fe yn ôl i’w orsedd o ddur glas yn y Prif Sigwrat. Fodd bynnag, roedd e'n adnabod ei gyfyngiadau hefyd, ac er iddo ddod o hyd i gorff y plentyn druan yn y seler mor debyg i Annwfn, ar ôl chwilio am amser maith, roedd arno angen cyfaddef nad oedd e'n medru'i atgyfodi. Wel, aeth y Llabwst yn wyllt gacwn o glywed hyn, gan fynnu y dylai'r gŵr doeth, nad oedd yn ymddangos yn rhy ddeallus ar hynny o bryd, gael ei roi dan glo mewn claddgell gyda'r gelain. Ac ni fyddai ganddo ddim byd o gwbl i'w fwyta, a dim byd yn ei law ond cleddyf, ‘chwaith…”

 

Ond yn sydyn dyna ddaeargryn enfawr yn hollti’r tir diffaith o amgylch y Sigwratau, gan gyhoeddi bod yr Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg yn ymuno â’r frwydr, wedi’u galw gan hen swyn na allant ei wrthod — ‘Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha.’ Nid creaduriaid cyffredin mohonyn nhw, ond rhai o faint enfawr a llawn nerth goruwchnaturiol. O un o’r agennau dyna ymddangos neidr wenwynllyd, wrth i sarff ogoneddus lithro o dwll dwfn arall ar ochr bell y maes. Ac i gynorthwyo ymdrechion ei chyfeillion, dyna wiber gynddeiriog yn dod i’r golwg oddi dan y cerflun ffiaidd. Nad ydynt ar eu pennau’u hunain ‘chwaith, am mai dyma sgorpion angheuol yn sgrialu rhwng y coed o gerrig, a llysywen drydanol yn nofio’n wyllt trwy’r awyr lawn gwreichion. Ymhellach twrw cyhyrog sy’n rhuthro ar draws faes y gad gan ruo, i amddiffyn y llanc, ac yn ei ymyl mae draig ddirfawr. O’r dde fe ddaw bwgan blewog, wrth i lew gwallgof redeg i mewn o’r chwith.

 

“…Roedd y Siaman wedi drysu'n lân o ystyried ei sefyllfa a'i amgylchiadau. Ac yntau bron a marw o newyn, llwyddodd i ladd sarff a oedd wedi llusgo dan y drws trwchus o dderw tuag at y plentyn, i'w hatal rhag niweidio’i gorff. (Ac fe wnaeth e hyn naill ai â'r cleddyf neu â cherrig hylaw, naill ai ar ddamwain neu o bwrpas. Dyw’r straeon ddim yn glir yma. Pwy all ddweud, bellach?) Trueni oedd hynny, yn yr ystyr o fod yn gamgymeriad, efallai, gan fod yr hen sarff yn feistres ar lawer iawn o gyfrinachau, yn cynnwys sut i iacháu'r meirwon, gwyrth a ddysgwyd iddi gan Tefnuth. Wrth i’r Siaman aros i ystyried sut i fwyta'r anifail heb ei goginio, ymddangosodd sarff arall. Pan welodd hi'i chariad yn gorwedd yn farw ar y llechi oer, fe ddiflannodd hi ar unwaith. Ond yn groes i ddisgwyliad yr hen ddyn, fe ddaeth hi yn ei hôl cyn pen dim, gan ddwyn yn ei cheg ddail rhyw lysieuyn, neu efallai mai madarch oedden nhw. Ac er ei fawr syndod, pan rodd hi'r planhigyn ar gorff y sarff farw, fe gododd hithau'n fyw yn y fan…”

 

Ac mae llais y llanc, a lleisiau Blodeuwedd a’r Doethur Da ‘fyd yn ymuno â chôr o leisiau cryfa’r Ddau Fyd, yn canu cân feddwol o gymhleth am garu, a chasáu, a chadw, a cholli, ac am uno pob peth croes — ‘Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.’ A dyma emyn llawn gwaed a harddwch, mor arswydus â Chân Tefnuth a ddaeth â Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd trwy’i haberthu’i hunan a mynd i lawr i’r Isfyd. Mae’n sôn am y naill sydd yn ysu, yn yr eiliad hwnnw, am ryddhad, ac am y llall sydd yn ymbil am fywyd i barhau, gan ddarogan y bydd, o’r diwedd, ddau aberth, ar yr adeg pan drosglwyddir nerth corfforol yr un ifanc, a grym meddyliol yn un hynaf, i’r mab nas genir eto, gan ddweud ei dynged a phennu’i ffawd, a chyda hi, ddyfodol y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth ill dau. A dyna’r Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg yn ymosod ar y creadur o’r id ar ffurf yr Wncwl, a’r Côr Arallfydol yn hwmian yn ddigon uchel i doddi hyd yn oed y cerrig gleision, a’r Comando Trefol wedi’i wisgo mewn olion lifrai milwrol yn trin ei gyllell hela ddanheddog, wrth i anrhefn lwyr ffromi o’i gwmpas.

 

“…Heb fawr o sylw i iechyd a diogelwch, heb sôn am arbrofion clinigol (roedden nhw'n arfer gwneud pethau'n dra gwahanol yn yr hen ddyddiau, roedd yn eitha debyg i fod mewn rhyw wlad annatblygedig fel Sanjorj ar y Cyfandir Deheuol heddiw), fe rodd y Siaman dipyn o’r stwff hudol ar gelain y plentyn a fu farw o gael ei drwytho yn yr ambrosia’n cynnwys llawer o fêl. Ac yntau ddihunodd ar ei union, diolch i nerth y cemegion nitrogenaidd o'r enw alcaloidau, sy'n tarddu o blanhigion a dyf mewn tail gwartheg. Ond rhaid cofio mai mêl hefyd oedd yn hanfodol i'r hudoliaeth fiocemegol ymddangosiadol. Ac yn hyn o beth, fe gyflawnodd y plentyn broffwydoliaeth oedd a wnelo â Lushfé yn y lle cyntaf — Fe fuodd yr aberth farw, Ond daeth ef yn ôl yn fyw; Fe gana’r holl goed pin felly, O wybod mai’r gangen wyw, Flagura drachefn mor syw…”

 

Ac yn olaf, ar y gair, dyna fwystfil mawr y tywydd yn cyrraedd, gan ddod â storom ffyrnig o Fynyddoedd Carborwndwm Gasrakh yng Nghyfandir Gogleddol y Nw Yrth, a honno’n bygwth hollol ddifa ffurf arteithiol yr Wncwl rheibus, sydd y Tad treisiol ar yr un pryd. Ac wedyn, cyfnod difesur o ddolefain tra chwynfanus gan ffurf lwfr y dyn neu’r dynion, cyn i’r llanc ysgwyd ei ben unwaith wrth allyrru‘n araf. A dyna siâp rhithiol y Tad-Wncwl yn cael ei dynnu’n gareiau gan grafangau anweledig ac yntau’n crio, a deisyfu – a ffrwydro’n gannoedd o ddafnau tew o slwtj berwedig – gan hyrddio’r llanc i lawr ar y maen wrth i’r gyllell gael ei thaflu o’i afael.

 

“…Roedd y Llabwst uwchben ei ddigon o gael ei fab yn ôl. Serch hynny, ni adawai i'r Siaman adael cyn iddo yntau ddysgu cyfrinachau dewiniaeth i'r bachgen. Fe gytunodd yr hen ddyn gan nad oedd ganddo ddim dewis o gwbl, a dysgu dewiniaeth i'r mab. Ac wedyn, roedd e'n cael gadael. Ond, a’r llong ar fin hwylio ymaith, fe ofynnodd y Siaman i'r bachgen boeri yn ei geg. Fe wnaeth y mab felly (dyna ffiaidd, on’d ife!) gan anghofio yn y fan a'r lle’r holl gyfrinachau roedd e wedi'u dysgu gan y gŵr hysbys. Dychwelodd y Siaman tuag adref heb oedi. Ond oblegid bu farw’r bachgen yn y crochan, felly efe oedd yr unig enaid i ddianc heb groesi’r Bont i’r Byd Arall. Ac roedd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd yn cynddeiriogi o’i golli, ac yn benderfynol o gael y llanc arbennig yn ôl…”

 

A dyma’r Bydysawd ar ddarfod, wrth i amser a’r gofod ruthro’n gyflymach gyflymach mewn sbiral gyfoglyd tuag at unigolrwydd ble byddan nhw’n ffaelu a diweddu am byth. A dyna olau coch yr Haul Lluddedig yn galw ar y llanc gan addo rhyddid, heddwch, serch, harmoni, a therfyn parhaol ar ddiodde’. Yn rhywle mae’n gallu gweld Ari-adní yn dal i fyny â’r Dyn-darw yn Llwybrau Drygioni i’w wanu e. A dyna Lotké yn y Cwch Dirboenus yn cael ei orfodi i edrych yn ôl, a throi’n biler o sialc, a’i lygaid gwyn yn sythu fel marblis gwirion ar y ddinas danddwr ar dân. Mae’r bachgen o ddyn yn cysgu ar ei drwyn, ac O, cymaint mae eisiau rhoi’r gorau i frwydro, er dyw’m yn siŵr ydy e eisiau byw neu farw, a ‘sdim ots ‘da fe, ‘chwaith.

 

“…Nawr, bob yn dipyn, roedd Arglwyddi newydd wedi ymddangos o rengoedd yr hurfilwyr ar ôl y Wledd Goch, i arwain yr amryw griwiau. A than ddylanwad cyfrinachol gan y Saith Swynwr, ni fyddai asiantau'r carfannau croes byth yn rhoi'r gorau i geisio lladd y Teulu Hapus, wrth ddilyn y patrwm cyfarwydd. Fe allai’r rhieni eu hamddiffyn eu hunain. Ond dyna’r Llabwst yn penderfynu casglu’r hud cryfaf o bobman i'w roi i'r bachgen, Keth·kela Hethehela, i'w amnewid am y pŵer a ddygodd ymaith gan y Siaman. Wedyn, i’w gadw fe rhag niwed a thranc, fe anfonodd y Mab Darogan i’r Ddaear trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd wedi’i greu, hwyrach, gan yr awyrenwyr beiddgar ond anffodus…”

 

O’r diwedd, dyna’r seremoni atgas wedi’i dechrau gan y Dad ac wedi’i pharhau gan y ffug-Ddewin ar fin dirwyn i ben. Dyna agor y Porth rhwng y Bydoedd. Ac mor anodd ydy. Cyn anhawsed ag y medrai fod. Llafurus o ara’ mae’n digwydd. Ac mae’r llanc yn boddi mewn crochan dirfawr, gwaedlyd yn llawn o sain, a delwedd, a theimlad, ymhle mae emynau dyrchafedig yn cymysgu â’r iaith fras waetha’. A dyna fe’n canfod bod Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid wedi dod yn un, a’u bod nhw’n gorfoleddu’n aflywodraethus. Dyna’r drych sgrio afloyw yn ffrwydro am y tro ola’, i wasgaru teilchion i bedwar ban y Ddau Fyd, wrth i’r bwthyn glas yn losgi fel tân byw, gan gael ei lwyr ddinistrio, o’r seler uffernol i’r tŷ bach melltigedig. O’i gwmpas, dyna’r coed pin yn sgrechian wrth groesawu’r goelcerth anystyriol, gry’, bur, gan ganu’n hawdd. Ac fe fydd y ddau fod dynol yn derbyn yr hyn a haeddir ganddyn nhw fel gwobr neu gosb – fe fydd y naill fyw, tra bydd y llall farw.

 

“…Taith y Mab Darogan oedd gweithred a achosai ganlyniadau annisgwyl a chyrhaeddgar, gan weu bywydau’r trigolion ar y Ddau Fyd ynghyd o hynny ymlaen, gan i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd gael y gwyllt o sylweddoli o bell yr hyn oedd wedi digwydd. A phan welodd arweinyddion y teuluoedd mawr y crwt yn diflannu mewn colofn o gwmwl fflamllyd oedd wedi ymddangos uwchben yr Uchelgaer Rosliw, am unwaith fe godon nhw mewn dig, gan uno i ymosod ar y Llabwst yn ffyrnig a’i larpio. Ac yn hyn o beth roedden nhw’n ymddwyn yn enwedig fel Swtach yn ymhyfrydu mewn darnio corff Lushfé. Ac felly fu farw’r Llabwst. Fodd bynnag, wedi hynny, fe wnaethon nhw ddechrau eu hen gastiau drachefn, gan gynllwyno helynt a hanner, ond ni allen nhw gytuno ar ddim byd rhagor, a ffoeon nhw ar eu hunion i wledydd pell. Ac oherwydd eu brad, fe gymerodd y Dywysoges le'i hannwyl ŵr ymadawedig fel Unben ar ôl bron hanner dydd o alar dwys…”

 

Yna, mae’r llanc a ddanfonwyd i gwblhau gwaith dyn yn gweiddi fel petai’r Ddau Fyd ar ben, gan syrthio dibyn-dobyn tuag at yr anghenfil berwedig sydd wedi ailffurfio ac yn gryfach ac yn gracach o lawer nag o’r blaen, wedi ymlâdd. Yn boenus, dyma’r swp enfawr o stwff cigog yn chwyddo, gan chwysu, a chwythu, a chwydu, wrth i ffurf ddynol, gyhyrog a fflamllyd ymgnawdoli. Ac mae llygaid du, gwag y ffigur dychrynllyd yn llosgi’r llanc fel dwy fflachlamp uwchfioled yn llawn o’i ofidiau a’i fethiannau yntau oll, wrth i’r breichiau enfawr droi’n dentaclau’n ymestyn i’w lusgo i waelod yr Afon Wylofus.

 

“…Roedd Ari·adní eisiau dial ar y rhai a oedd wedi achosi tranc Hufanoru, a pheri iddi golli Keth·kela Hethehela, a threuliodd hi gryn amser ar hyfforddi i fod yn filwraig. Fe ddarganfu i ble yn union roedd y troseddwyr wedi dianc, yn bell oddi ar ei Theyrnas (roedden nhw'n llechu ym mamwlad y Siaman a bod yn fanwl gywir), ac wedyn aros ei chyfle. Sawl blwyddyn yn ddiweddarach, fe arweiniodd hi gyrch yn erbyn gwlad yr Arglwyddi oedd wedi syrthio oddi ar ras, gan esgus mai hawlio teyrnged yn enw ei diweddar ŵr roedd hi. O weld cryfder ei byddin, a gogoniant ei cherbyd rhyfela, y werin bobl a ddarostyngwyd…”

 

A dyma’r llanc yn ymbalfalu nerth deng ewin i’w ryddhau’i hunan, ond yn pallu, a’r awyr yn llosgi’i ysgyfaint wrth iddo drio’n ofer ddal gwynt. Ar y Ddaear, mae’r pinwydd ym mhob man o gwmpas y bwthyn yn gollwng cannoedd ar gannoedd o gonau gwyrdd, yr un lliw â Thŵr Ari·adní a laddodd ei tharw o frawd gyda phelen o linyn (a dagr). Ac wrth frwydro i’w atal e gyda’u carnau, eu dannedd, a’u crafangau, dyna’r llengoedd o fodau asgellog, pigog yn saethu o’u hystlys filoedd o blu metelig, miniog, mor wyn â’r haen o ffwng yn tyfu’n wyllt ar waliau di-ben-draw Llwybrau Drygioni o dan yr Ysgor Rosliw. Ac ar lan llygredig, brwnt Afon Dagrau, dyna ddyn twp yn hala llawer o gerigos cyn ddued â chroen Man·toru pan fu farw, i’r dŵr drewllyd, wrth drio achub mochyn gwyllt wedi’i ddal mewn troli siopa rhydlyd. Ac ar riniog rhyw seler lawn hud a lledrith, dyna dorri breichled ar ddwrn un o’r ddau lanc, gan sarnu gleiniau cyn lased â llygaid gafraidd ei fêt ar hyd y llawr.

 

“…Roedd yr Arglwyddi balch a gwirion yn dal i ddirmygu’r Dywysoges fodd bynnag, gan ddweud taw mwydyn oedd hi o’i chymharu â’r Unben May·nover, neu hyd yn oed yr Unben Hufanoru, ac na reolai hi byth gan taw gwraig oedd hi. Heb droi blewyn felly, fe laddodd hithau bob un ohonyn nhw yno mewn galanastra enfawr, dinistrio'r ddinas yn llwyr, llosgi’r lleoliad, a halltu’r ddaear. Hyd yn oed y Siaman hen iawn o’r enw Ohl·weled oedd wedi achub ei mab, a fu farw yn y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf. O’r herwydd, er nad Llysfam i neb oedd hi, am na phriododd hi erioed eto, fe gafodd hi’r llysenw y Dywysoges Waedlyd. Ac wedyn, wrth gael saib bach rhag y gorchwyl enbyd, fe ofynnodd Ari·adní i'r awyr wag a oedd hithau cymaint yn wir â'r Unben marw…”

 

Aros yn ddiamynedd mae’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd sy’n trigo yn y gofodau cuddiedig tu draw i ddirnadaeth gyffredin, gan wyrdroi’r onglau oll, a throi lliwiau’n sŵn. Mae’r llanc yn gwylio’r olygfa o’r Hen Lyfr ble mae Ishakí Dad yn oedi cyn gwthio'r gyllell i galon Adauvam Fab, i fodloni’r Duwdodau Rhyfedd a rhyddhau pwerau anhygoel. Ond y Mab sy’n chwarae rôl y Tad bellach, ac uwch eu pennau nhw mae’r gigfran ddu’n ymosod yn ffyrnig ar y golomen wen. A dyna’r Saith yn disgwylgar udo fel petai’u llefau’u hunain yn agor y Llwybr Dolurus i’r Byd Arall, wrth i’r Llais Trallodus orchymyn: “Lleddwch yr aberth â chyllell o fetel, a difethwch y corff, a roddwch ef nes iddo losgi yn y tân fel poethoffrwm i’r Hen Feistri, fel y dônt i wledda ar gnawd blasus y Ddaear oll hyd byth.”

 

“…Wedi sefydlu ei hunan fel Unben, fe ddechreuodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ddefnyddio’r sgiliau amaethyddol roedd wedi eu dysgu gan ei chariad colledig, yn ogystal â thechnegau hudol (neu rai gwyddonol arloesol, fel y dywedem ni yn ein hiaith goeth ni heddiw) gynhwyswyd yn llyfrau nodiadau cyfrinachol y ddiweddar Lysfam. Fel hyn roedd hi’n medru amaethu cnydau enfawr o fadarch, a ffa tra sbeislyd, a ffyngau gwyrddlwyd, a llwydlas, a llwydwyrdd, a chynhyrchu ambrosia purddu ac ynddo berlysiau a mêl. Ac nid yn unig dod yn gyfoethog eithriadol a wnaeth hi, ond hefyd tynhau rheolaeth dros ran fawr o’r Blaned, am fod gan y bwydydd hyn bwerau rhyfedd i effeithio ar feddyliau pobl, yn ogystal â’u cyrff a’u hymddygiad. Fe drefnodd hefyd y saith teulu mawr fel mai’r aelodau fyddai’n rhifolegwyr, meddyliaethyddion, ac offeiriaid, sêr-ddewiniaid, alcemyddion, chwilyswyr, a dehonglwyr, a sefydlodd ddefodau a seremonïau y byddai’n rhaid eu cadw i osgoi llid yr Hen Feistri, a dyfeisiodd lafarganeuon llawn nerth yn yr hen iaith gysefin, i’w galw a’u gorfodi nhw, i ymbil arnyn nhw a’u bygwth…”

 

Ond mae eto ryw dalp o dywyllwch ‘styfnig yn y llanc colledig, rhyw ddarn miniog o graig o’r Lleuad Oriog, fydd ddim yn gadael iddo beidio ymdrechu, a dyna gysgod byrbwyll, yn sgrechian o rywle: “Cer yn dy flaen di, ‘achan, ma’ be’ fydd yn digwydd lan i ti, ti sy’n gweud yr hanes ‘ma, reit, nage nhw!” Ife dewis drosto’i hunan a wna, neu gael ei orfodi? Dyw e’m yn gwybod, so fe’n gallu’i ddeall. ‘Sdim ots o gwbl ‘da fe ta be’ am achosion na rhesymeg, ac yn bendant, dyw e’m yn bihafio’n ddewr, nac aberthu’i hunan er yr un egwyddor neilltuol. Ond mae’n teimlo taw fe sydd ar y llyw am y tro cynta’ ’rioed, siŵr o fod. Ac er yr holl fryntni, a gwewyr meddwl, a drewdod, a dryswch, mae hud puro’r ffug-Ddewin wedi ôl-danio i gadw’r llanc yn saff. Ond dyna fe’n sylweddoli wedyn hefyd, fel fflach o fellten, fod yn rhaid i'r Dewin daflu'i hunan i'r Gwagle bob tro bydd yn bwrw hud, heb wybod i sicrwydd a fydd y canlyniad disgwyliedig yn digwydd neu beidio, ond wrth fod yn ddigon dewr i weithredu, i neidio, serch hynny, ac er gwaetha'i holl amheuon. Ac yn sydyn mae geiriau newydd Swyn Trawsffurfio’n cydgysylltu yn ei ymennydd, ac wedyn yn dechrau ymrwygo’n ddigymell o’i geg sychedig iawn, gan lifo allan i heigio o gwmpas yn yr awyr fel marwor byw, eirias —

 

Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu; Size, nilara, narala, sifi; Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa; Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe; Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha; Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha; Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.

 

“…Fe adawodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd taw i’r Isfyd yr âi’r deiliaid ffyddlon ac ymostyngar pan fuon nhw farw, ar Blaned werdd a glas, yn bell oddi yno, ble bydden nhw’n byw’n wynfydedig am byth, petaen nhw’n ymddwyn yn unol â rheolau llymion oll Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig y Swynwyr. Ond, fe rybuddiodd hithau taw i Artaith Dragwyddol yn y Pwll Diwaelod yng nghanol tanbaid y Blaned yr aent fel arall. Ac fe ddatganodd hithau taw ffieiddbeth oedd pob delw gerfiedig, a delwedd unrhyw greadur, gan eu bod yn llawn nerth. Fe waharddodd hithau’r holl bobl rhag darlunio’r Swynwyr mewn unrhyw fodd, ar boen eu bywyd, a bygwth taw melltigedig fyddai pob anghredinwr, a phob un oedd yn glynu wrth unrhyw gred heblaw'r un uniongred, gyfanfydol…”

 

A dyna leisiau cryg y cryts colledig hefyd yn bloeddio Pennill Dera nerth eu ‘sgyfaint cas i agor y Drws Melltigedig. Wrth i'r holl leisiau weiddi, canu, gweddïo, sgrechian, a siantio, dyna'r geiriau fflamllyd yn ufuddhau iddyn nhw er mwyn dod â'r Gwaith Mawr i ben. Ac o uno cymeriadau oll y ddrama, dyna'r grym priodol yn llifo fel ffrwd afreolus trwy Seintwar y Saith gan ddiffodd y fflamau â thonnau o ddüwch, ond tanio Bydoedd newydd i fod mewn ffrwydradau o oleuni ar yr un pryd. Ac o dderbyn ei ddiffyg llwyr o wybodaeth a rheolaeth, dyna’r llanc yn codymu, gan gwympo’n sydyn ac yn ddiymadferth tuag at i mewn, ble mae Bydoedd di-rif yn aros i'w darganfod, ac mewn rhai ohonyn nhw gallai fyw mewn dedwyddwch, a phriodi, a chael cryts, a gweithio i Sefydliad i Blant Cythryblus – neu falle fod yn fwnci mawr, eofn fydd byth yn tyfu lan – neu gropian ar ei bedwar mewn gwewyr drwy gorsydd braen yn llawn bitwmen berw – pwy a ŵyr?

 

“…A hyn oll a wnaeth y Dywysoges Waedlyd, gan honni taw hi oedd Proffwydes Gyntaf y Ffydd Fyd-Eang, a taw ei thasg sanctaidd oedd puro, disgyblu, cosbi, ac achub, a taw dyna fyddai braint a dyletswydd pob taeog ufudd y Swynwyr hefyd o hynny ymlaen. Ac fe ddywedai hithau gyda’r sicrwydd mwyaf fod ei galluoedd eithriadol yn tarddu o’r hud a gododd yn ei bru o ddwyn y Mab Darogan a unodd grym y Swynwyr a dealltwriaeth y Delw-addolwyr. Am taw efe a fu farw ac wedyn dod yn ôl yn fyw. A dyna adawai iddi adrodd Swyn Grymusaf Enwi a Rhwymo i alw a gorchymyn grym bywiol pob creadur ar wyneb y Blaned…”

 

Yn wir, mae'r arfau oll yn barod yn y lle sanctaidd, fel gall y sawl a ollwng ei fywyd ddarganfod un newydd, gan ddianc heb os rhag bodolaeth lawn poen am byth – neu falle gan gofleidio un hyd yn oed yn waeth. Ond o leia' fe fyddai’n penderfynu, gweithredu, dewis, ar ei liwt yntau’i hun, be’ bynnag fyddai’r canlyniad. A dyna lais y Cyfaill ffrwcslyd, anwadal yn galw arno i neidio, wrth i’r "Nekrokosmikon" ddigwydd. Dyna'r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd doddi a chyfuno â’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd o’r diwedd, i ddechrau rhodio dychymig y Bydysawd heb rwystr. Mae cwndid y pŵer creadigol yn crynu’n wyllt, heb fod yn ddigon dewr i'w hyrddio'i hunan i'r dymestl. A dyna'r Holl Fyd yn disgwyl, un ai am drawsffurfiant, neu am farwolaeth.

 

"…Ac wedyn, fe drodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ei sylw tuag at y Ddaear, y Blaned ffrwythlon honno ar draws yr Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, oedd yn gartref newydd i’r Mab Darogan oedd wedi mynd â disgyblaeth y Swynwyr yn ogystal â threiddgarwch y Delw-addolwyr. A pharod i’w goncro oedd y Byd hwnnw’n wir. Dychmygai hi hefyd taw dyna lle roedd hanfodion y Llabwst a’r Dyn-darw wedi’u cludo ar y foment y buon nhw farw, hen sôn am Thethalu ac Ithru…”

 

Dyna’r ffurf gyfnewidiol yng nghanol y maen aberthu – yr Hen Elyn – ar fin ei ladd e. Yno, o’i flaen e, mae’r Tad treisiol, gorffwyll – yr Ewythr selog, ffiaidd – y Meddyliaethydd di-glem, llon – a’r Athro rhwystredig, dirmygus. Ac maen nhw’n cael eu hymuno gan Fam y llanc a’i llais ymbilgar yn dweud wrtho taw metel yw’r allwedd a dŵr yw’r elfen ar gyfer dianc i Fyd Arall. A dyna’r Arglwyddes yn ei leddfu a’i annog ar yr wyneb tra mae hi’n corddi gan ddicter oddi tanodd, wrth iddi basio i’w law ddagr hynafol o haearn rhydlyd. Ac yna, ar ei union, y munud hwnnw – mae’n gorfod i ‘neud e – mae’n rhaid iddo – ‘neud diwedd ar yr holl gyflafan. Er ‘does ganddo na’r cryfder na’r awydd, dyna fe’n codi’r gyllell i orffen popeth, a’i Chwaer-Cariad yn arwain ei law, yn dirion ond yn gadarn. Saith cymeriad sydd yno, ac mae pob un y cyfathrebu ag un o’r Saith Swynwr. Mae’n trio osgoi edrych ar y peth dychrynllyd o hyd, sy’n cynnwys ei hunan oll, gan droi’i wyneb ymaith yn anobeithiol. Ond, wedi’i gymell gan rym na ellir ei wrthwynebu, wedi’i reibio gan Lais Trallodus Swtach, ni all e gadw’i lygaid oddi arno fe, ac mae’n cael ei orfodi i graffu ar yr endid hunllefus.

 

“…Yn llygaid craff ei meddwl, wrth rythu i’r crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd a safai erbyn hynny yn ymyl Gorsedd Ddur yr Unben drwy’r amser, fe ganfyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd bethau oedd yn digwydd ar y Ddaear. Felly fe allai weld, fel petai ar ryw sgrin archwilio wyrthiol, yr Hen Filwr, y Dewin Ifancaf, a’r Rhifolegwr Colledig, yr Arglwyddes MacBeth, y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant, y Comando Trefol, a'r Ananedig. Dyna oedd lluniau tra deniadol o hudo a dioddef, o lofruddio, aberthu, a llosgi. Fe ganfu hithau mai Deklo oedd rhywogaeth y rhai yn byw ar y Ddaear, a'u bod yn debyg iawn i’w thylwyth hi’r Delkurí yn byw ar y Blaned Yrth…”

 

Ac er dyw’r llanc eisiau ‘neud e o gwbl, dyma’r dagr rhydlyd yn penderfynol ddisgyn, fel ‘sai’n trio sbeitio’r triniwr. A’r eiliad honno, amser ei hun a slaesir yn rhacs, wrth i resymeg gael ei drysu. Mae fel ‘sai crwt mwythlyd wedi malu’r cloc cosmig wedi mynd i’r pwd. A dyna’r symbolau arferol oll yn rhoi’r gorau i ‘neud synnwyr, yr un pryd bod pob delwedd yn toddi. Mae popeth yn uno o ran lleoliad ac amgylchiad, wrth i gymeriadau a syniadau nofio’n rhydd mewn môr posibilrwydd. A dyna bawb yn newid lleoedd a phersonoliaethau, a phobl mewn oed yn dod yn ifanc, tra mae cryts yn tyfu’n ddynion a gwragedd. Ac er ei enfawr arswyd, ymhlith y ffurfiau eraill oll, dyna’r llanc yn gweld Swtach ei hunan, yr Wythfed Swynwr mewn bwriad, a alltudiwyd o’i lwyth gan iddo gyfeillachu â’r Delw-addolwyr a cheisio’u dymchwel teyrnasiad ei gymrodyr.

 

“…Ac fe wyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd yn ei chalon fod Keth·kela Hethehela yn tyfu, ac aeddfedu, a disgwyl, a chynllunio, wrth i’r Daearolion difeddwl ruthro tuag at hunanddinistr, er na allai hithau ragweld o gwbl beth fyddai’n digwydd o hynny ymlaen. Ond o ddychmygu’r holl ryfeddodau all y meddwl eu creu, dyna oedd hithau’n chwerthin, am amser maith.”

 

Ac efe, Arglwydd yr Anialwch, Meistr y Cwch Dur Glas Dirboenus, a Lledaenydd Anrhefn, yw’r Bachgen analluog, gwan hefyd, y Llabwst sy’n Dad i’r Mab Darogan, yn pendilio rhwng pwdu’n ofer a ffromi’n ddigon i ddiffodd yr Haul Disglair. A dyna fe’n swatio yn ei siambr heb olau, annirnad, y tu hwnt i amser a’r gofod, y tu allan i’r Cosmos trefnedig. Ac yng nghanol anfeidroldeb oll, ymhlith y tryblith isaf, mae’r aflwydd di-ffurf yn berwi a chablu wrth gnoi’n llwglyd ar esgyrn Creadigaeth. O’r diwedd, dyna’r llanc yn wynebu’i hunan, wrth i fyddin o ddrymiau ffiaidd guro’n gythruddol o aneglur, a dyna gacoffoni o ffliwtiau melltigedig yn nadu’n undonog. Mae e wedi ceisio’i waredu’i hunan rhag ei wendidau a rhag creulondebau bodolaeth, ond wedi methu’n llwyr, ond odid.

 

Mewn chwiffiad, dyna ryw wirionedd erchyll yn dechrau gwawrio ar y llanc. Mae’n gweld taw trwy ddileu'i hunan o’r gêm annethol, bresennol, neu ganslo’i hunan o hafaliad annatrys bywyd, fel petai, fe fedrai fod yn bosib creu realiti amgen o ryw fath. Ac yno byddai popeth yn digwydd yn wahanol. Wedi’r cyfan, mae’r llanc yn sylweddoli taw fe yw etifedd i Sorakados Dywysog, fu farw mewn coelcerth fflamllyd yn un ar hugain oed wedi'i denu a’i fradychu gan Swtach. Ac fe ŵyr y llanc taw mawr iawn oedd anrheg y Dewin Ifanc. Gan taw Delkurí oedd dynolryw i ddechrau, oedd yn gaethweision llwyr i’r Saith. Ond ar ôl hunanaberth Sorakados, fe fedren nhw newid, ac wedyn Deklo oedden nhw, ac Urdd Cyfrinachau’n gweithio yn y cefndir i rwystro holl gynlluniau’r Meistri Echrydus. A bellach maen nhw ar drothwy trawsffurfiant arall, fel taw Thehelo fyddan nhw, os llwyddan nhw i oresgyn y rhwystrau anhygoel oll a pharhau i fodoli, fydd yn lledu’u hadenydd i hedfan tuag at yr Haul a llenwi’r Gwagle. Ar hynny, dyna ymddangos llais arall eto, un ifanc, ac ansicr, ond taer iawn, sy’n siantio’n rhythmig o’r dyfodol, falle, gan ‘neud i’r awyr danbaid grynu wrth iddo adrodd y Swyn Seithblyg. Ac mae’n dod yn gryfach a mwy hyderus fesul eiliad, a thrawsffurfio geiriau’r hud hynaf unwaith eto —

 

Tha la safe fahe tha furulu;

Sizeni la ra nara la sifi;

Thuri the thi ropupaha hapi lisapa; 

E thi tha a thi sali la leni the;

Poru punu ele tha ua la thi aha; 

Afi ra seho uro uhufi life sesiha; 

Filisi tha hui hafa tha leri thehe lo.

 

Dyna lais y Blaenaf Ymhlith Cydraddolion, Pennaeth Undeb yr Archarwyr, a mab y llanc. Ac wedyn, oddi mewn i ganol y swp o we corryn lym fel ellyll sy’n tynhau o amgylch ogylch iddo, fe ŵyr y llanc colledig 'na y gall roi’r baich trymaf heibio bellach ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr. A’r pryd hynny, darfod a wnaiff y Byd, y Byd hwn, ei Fyd e.

 

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[*] Mae’r hanes hwn wedi ymddangos erbyn hyn fel “Y Deyrnas Waedlyd (Nofel Graffig yn drwm o ran testun),” gan y Cysgod (Mamrick), a’r Ficing (Grossmann), ar sail syniad gan yr Arwr Anffodus (Baxter). — P.M.